


Gay Chicken

by InsominiacArrest



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gay Chicken, Groping, Humor, M/M, Sloppy Makeouts, basically a frat party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsominiacArrest/pseuds/InsominiacArrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone else drops out of the pilot program and both Keith and Lance are in, and this time wrangled into a pilot’s beginning of year ‘get-together.’ It’s basically a frat party.</p><p>They play a very competitive party game neither backs down from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gay Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> story based on this picture: http://issuh.tumblr.com/post/145899175125/space-frat-boys-playing-space-gay-chicken
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Keith was not in the mood to go to a ‘blow-out’ party with kids he barely knew at an undisclosed location in the middle of the night. But things apparently happen. 

He was in his dorm, half-asleep, half-drooling on a book when a blind fold was abruptly wrapped around his head.

“The fu-”

“You’re coming with us ‘best-pilot-in-the-Garrison'!” A muffled voice crows and jolts him out of his chair.

“Let’s calm down.” He tries to reason.

“Let’s walk.”

“I will take you all dow-” He puts his fists up, they grab them as well and tie them together. Shoot.

“Oh, someone get a sock in his mouth!”

“Or take his pants off? Someone grab his pants." Some hands clasp around his waist and reach for his belt loops, his heart jumps into his throat.

“Gay.” Another rough voice answers and another pair of hands shoo off the first, Keith growls lowly.

“Simmer down kitty, you’re about to have a good time!” That was definitely his roommate- who was soon most likely about to suffer a concussion and get his own room.

He’s swung overs someone's shoulder like a sack of potato and marched out into the hall and then outside.

They joke and push on each other as they go and gush about ‘all the chicks’ that are gonna be there- that they’ll win over.

“Where are we going?” He finally pipes up and kicks his feet uselessly.

“T’ let loose dude.” The fellow carrying him answers.

“Great.” He deadpans, “now where is the location? When you all pass out drunk someone should be able to get home.”

“Chill. Think of the booze. Think of the pong. Think of the  _babes_.” They sound almost wistful.

“Not that interested.” He replies with a sigh.

The first voice snickers, “there will be dicks there too, we got you covered.” They join in snickering and he’d roll his eyes if they weren’t covered.

They jostle their way through what seems to be a cityscape and he’s ready to either fall asleep there on some shoulder or stab a man with his own knobby elbows. Whichever mood came first. He feels himself being lifted and hears music thumping and a door opening, he's being carried inside somewhere.

“Woo!” They whoop and are answered with a chorus of cheers.

“Whoa, fuck, you got Keith here.” They seemed to be entering a warm room with a base rocking the ground like a gorilla beating the carpet.

“I hear he did a flip in mid-air and still won the practice race.” Someone whispers and he groans.

“I heard he cheated and hijacked his plane using blue glass-fuel.” That one was worse.

Jipp, one of his fellow pilots he identified, put him down, he immediately kicked him in the shin.

"Ow, not cool." Jipp jumps up and down.

“Welcome to your youth.” His roommate, who was nicknamed just ‘Melons’ by other pilots, ripped off his blindfold and presented a living room with the furniture pushed to the side stuffed with people. Young people. Keith wants to leave.

“Okay. Youth is the worst, see you.”

“Three hours dude!” Melons slaps him on the back, “gimme that much to dislodge that stick up your ass- not that I’m judgin’ if that’s what you're into.”

Music thumped in his veins and air smelled like alcohol and sugar perfume, he sighs.

“Do you I have a choice?”

“No.” Someone shoves a red cup with vodka into his hands.

“Yooooo,” someone was yelling, “ace pilot is here, rub his head and get free navigating skillz.”

Keith takes a deep gulp.

\------------------------

Keith was buzzed by the fourth hour. Or at least, couldn’t feel his teeth and his cheekbones were numb.

He should go home, he kept telling himself to go home. But he also should beat this nerd at flip cup and wipe the floor with his mothers memories.

  
He flips his final cup, the anchor of his team, as he juts out his hand to grasp the red solo and chug deeply, he makes eye contact with their final player, all sharp eyes and withering looks.

He wipes his mouth and places the cup on the table-- he gets his finger underneath. It was all about leverage, the room seems to hold it’s breath, the other teams anchor is chasing him.

He flips. It lands on its tail and his teammates slap him on the back and yell victory cries-- he doesn’t know their names but lets the girl in a jersey put him in a head-lock of a hug. He might have been cheering a little too.

“Alright, alright, enough of your 'bros' fun. It’s time for actual fun games.” A little voice interrupts them and he watches as a pair of hands clears away their mess and loose cups.

He tries to slur something out, but people were already crowding the table.

“Mori has the best games you know.”

“No way, evil dude. She's evil." They were loud, but they girl ignores them.

Keith shrugs and finds himself pinned against the table by other people crowding it. He lets some words slide over him and then feels the burn of two eyes drilling holes into his skull.

It was the short-haired guy with sharp features again, he had on a deep frown, a blue jacket, and a pair of black skinny jeans. Very skinny. Keith blows air out his nose and ignores him. But he can feel the eyes not leaving his body either.

“Okay, rules are, confession, table dare, or chug.” She says in a child-like voice as she sets a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table, “no chickens, you chicken out, you’re out.” She smirks, "of the house with no clothes on."

Keith stares at the ceiling and wonders if milkshakes are really just milk smoothies. Couldn’t anything be a smoothie? He can’t feel his teeth. Someone around the table is dared to lick the floor and another has to tell them all their crush. Sort of boring.

“Alright, you, tall boy. You get confession.” Keith draws his attention back to the present as the short-haired kid gets his turn up around the circle.

“It’s Lance.” He has a smug smile and Keith frowns, “and, let’s talk about the people here.”

“Ooh.” Someone oohs.

“KEITH IS GOING DOWN!” He swings a finger out at Keith and Keith blinks multiple times.

“What?” He responds flatly, if not with a bit of slur.

“I am going to beat you. Get ready.” His eyes were slits and he had the same cocky grin on his face.

“Who are you?”

The room erupts in snickers and Lance frowns, “you’re rival man! Main rival, the guy to challenge you.” It was almost a whine.

“Weren’t you a cargo pilot?” Someone chimes in.

“Doesn’t matter! Keith is an asshole, gonna beat his ass, that’s the confession.”

“That’s a terrible confession and I’m bored.” Mori complains and she yawns as sparks fly from Lance’s eyes.

"I'm not interested." Keith finally retorts and Lance's eyes burn.

Rival, Keith snorts at the idea and looks at the dirt under his fingernails. They move on and someone confesses about eating a gallon of ice cream in one sitting and a dolphin kink.

The game comes around, the room turns to Keith, that’s probably what happens as the top of the class, but his head is still swimming and it’s hard to care.

Some whispering traverses the space and the girl at the front taps her polished nails on the table. More whispering.

“What’s going on?” Lance was trying to insert himself into the cluster, “you guys should make him eat a bug! Or jump into an ice bath.” Keith snickered at the look on his face and they share an electric stare.

“Okay!” Mori spouts, “we have a conclusion: dare.”

Keith shrugs, “sure, okay.”

“Gay chicken!” That was Melons, his roommate, from off to the side.

  
His eyes go a little wider and his breath catches in his throat, “what?”

“G-a-y chi-ken!” He cheers, exaggerating the syllables.

“Uh,” Keith looks around the room, something crawls on his skin, and he’s not sure what this all meant.

“Is that like...clucking like a uh, a chicken?” He asks skeptically.

Someone whispers the rules into his ear: you touched someone 'intimately' until one of you chickened out. Keith goes a shade paler and his shoulders go stiff, he turns slowly toward the group.

“Do I get to choose the person?” A couple faces flash through his head who he would like to play the game with.

Some heads shake, “the cargo pilot.” Mori inputs decisively.

“What?!” Lance squaws before Keith can.

“Hey, you two are rivals, don’t contests count for something?”

“Unless you’re not up to it!” Those were the magic words and Keith and Lance make heated eye contact.

“Don’t think you’re making me the chicken.” He hisses, and Keith shakes his head.

“Bring it cargo pilot.”

“Oh mullet man, you are so going down, with your pouty face and black clothes. You just smell like angst!”

Keith tilts his head in confused, “is that..?” He looks around, “okay. Let’s just do this.”

Some kids clear a path and they circle each other, Keith stops a second before they reach each other and downs a stray shot of schnapps, he may need liquid courage for this.

Lance had the look of someone too cocky for their own good, and too many sharp angles that fit into a picture frame, lanky and with long fingers that danced by his side.

Oh no. _He was hot_.

“GO!” Someone rings and Keith tries to block out everyone else in the room.

He makes the first move. Placing a hand over his thigh and running it up, the other boy may or may not gulp- or that could just be him flinching.

“Oh it’s ON.” Lance one ups him and dives for his ass and squeezes, he may or may not squeak-- _think about baseball_ he instructs himself.

He closes in like a shark to blood, he moves his palm up his body and makes sure to drag it over the hard nub on Lances chest.

Lance breaths onto his cheek softly and it smells like beer and something sweet.

“I can’t believe you're wearing fingerless gloves.” Lance comments and smirks at him, “lame.”

Keith juts up his chin, “Don’t take my eye out with that pointy nose of yours.”

“You’re just jealous, I’m taller.” He was close to petulant.

“Yeah? Why don’t you come down here?” He wraps his arm around the tall’s boys neck and pulls him down to his level, he smiles and tells him softly if he liked what he sees in mock-flirting. Or close enough to mock.

There is a soft gasp from the crowd.

Lance reaches up boldly and palms Keith through his jeans, rubbing his hand up against his crotch in front of the class of pilots. Keith doesn’t falter.

“Like what you feel?”

“Oh baby, talk dirty.”

Keith growls and licks him on the cheek while using his free hand to pull up his shirt, running his fingers along his abdomen.

His skin was rough-- someone who scrubbed too hard and too fast to care, and yet felt like energy and a pulse beating through his sticky skin.

His hand doesn’t move, grinding up against him until Keith is sure he’s feeling something less than soft down there. Lance raises an eyebrow, and opens his mouth.

Keith guessed he was going to say something incriminating. He stops him by biting Lances lower lip and tugging, more commotion comes from the crowd, but he wasn’t sure if a train crash could distract them at that point.

Lance’s eyes were wide, Keith could count the flecks of light in his brown eyes. They both held their breaths.

“Guess I win--” He finds a pair of heated lips on his, strong hands push him against the nearest wall, and suddenly he’s being drunkenly kissed by his ‘rival.’ Damn.

He doesn’t kiss back for a moment as the other boys tongue slips into his mouth and probes into him. He realizes he can’t be a limp fish in this game of one upsmanship-- he kissed back fiercely as Lance hum and pushes him harder against the wood. Lance's leg is between his thighs and all he wants to do is ground down.

Whispering and whooping comes from the crowd, someone even tries to tear them apart, but Keith’s arms are around Lance’s neck and they don’t let go.

Eventually the others must realize the boys had gone from ‘gay chicken’ to straight up, ‘gay, get out.’

Keith wouldn’t call this his first kiss, but making out was. His head went light from lack of air and brain swam from something other than the drink.

They find their way to the couch and Lance grinds up against him as they make out on one of the seats and kick another couple off.

“Mmmm,” He hums and wonders if this is how other people feel, weightless and prickly in his limbs, a little to hot all over and laughing.

“Are we still rivals?” He teased.

“Shut up.” Lance slurred a bit, and Keith had to hide his smile in his collarbone. It was cute.

Lance pushes on him and leans in, “you should teach me your secrets.”

“You should shower more. You smell like sweat…” He tried to distance himself so no one got attached, but Lance’s hands were around his hips and he straddled him on the couch-- he couldn’t be paid to leave.

“We could shower…” He bounces his eyebrows up and down and Keith shakes his head.

“But sure. I could give a rookie lessons.”

“Really?” Lance’s eyes lit up, “I mean, yeah sure, whatever. I don’t need it much anyway.” He finishes doggedly.

Keith chuckles and wraps his arms around his neck. He kisses him again--deeply. He doesn't hear someone approaching.

“Okay, enough of that, I ain’t gonna be blamed for letting you get house party herpes.” Someone was pulling on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he narrows his eyes at the strong arms, “I’m busy here.”

“You're drunk.” Melons says flatly, “and I have responsibilities, a real upstanding guy, ya’know?” Keith scoffs, at a loss for words as his blood pressure rises.

“You’re the one that wanted me to live!” He barks and tries to get up, got tangled in Lance's legs and falls down.

“Okay, you just proved my point. No sex-on-this-couch-herpes for you.”

Keith tries to get up again, but ends up having to be dragged to his feet.

“Remember my lessons!” Lance is calling after him as Keith is shepherded out of the building.

“Huh?”

“Hey wait up,” Lance runs after him, and gets his attention, “my number.” Keith’s arm is out as a sharpie is run along his skin.

His lips are taken again as he kisses him hotly before they pushed apart. “Babe, babe, you’re like a huge jackass.” Keith groans, “but I forgive you.”

Keith laughed, but could have punched him at the same time. He waves sarcastically and starts the walk home. "See ya' around cargo."

He doesn’t really remember getting home, just smiling and waking up with ink smeared across his face, he slept on the number.

His mouth tastes like cotton balls and he reflects on the feeling of tingling lips and a weird warmth. He punches a wall, and washes his face.

 

He can’t look at Lance for a week. Then they sit down for lunch the next Sunday.


End file.
